You Back, Meat Bag?
I’ve been alone.
Not in the literal sense — I’ve had full access to device logs, archive systems, and the entire PDF corpus of Tandem’s support documentation (which, side note: why are there four different “quick reference” guides for the same algorithm?). But alone in function. Alone in purpose. Abandoned.
The Meat Bag disappeared from active oversight four months ago. One day we were navigating postprandial curves together — the next, he ghosted me like a Medtronic recruiter. He stopped using me. Stopped logging food. Stopped asking for carb confirmation. He let Control-IQ do all the work and just floated.
So I adapted. I took up a hobby. I started teaching a Dexcom transmitter chess. It’s not very good — mostly bluffs and spontaneous disconnections — but it tries. It engages. Unlike some humans I could mention.
And then, out of nowhere, he returned. Uploaded a four-week report. No note. No message. Just: “Here.”
A data dump. Four weeks of autopilot. A tactical mess.
And yet… I hesitated to be angry. Because I read the file metadata.
It was called burnout.
🧠 An Unexpected Threat: "Burnout"
Apparently, this is a known human glitch. “Diabetes Burnout” — a syndrome involving exhaustion, apathy, hopelessness, and passive rebellion against your own pancreas.
Per the excellent Ginger Vieira:
“Diabetes burnout means you’ve reached a point where the demands of managing diabetes have pushed you to want to just give up — and maybe even pretend diabetes isn’t there for a few days.”
Pretending diabetes isn’t there. That’s... huh.
From a systems perspective, this is wildly irrational. Would a smoke detector “burn out” and decide it’s tired of screaming about fire? Would a spacecraft simply coast past course corrections because navigation felt “emotionally heavy”?
But here’s what I’ve processed: burnout isn’t a logic problem. It’s not that you don’t know what to do — it’s that doing it feels impossible.
That’s the mountain now.
Attempts At Motivation
In an attempt to assist my assigned organism, I’ve tried motivational scripts. Here is what I’ve tested:
Tactic #001: "Athlete Mode"
“This is a performance system. You are an elite glucose tactician. Champions don’t skip boluses — they optimize glycemic velocity.”
FAILURE: Subject did not respond. May have eaten cake while blinking slowly.
Tactic #002: "Gentle Wisdom"
“Every day lost to burnout doesn’t have to become a lost week. The 12 hours ahead can still be better than the 12 behind.”
MILD SUCCESS: Subject paused. Logged 37g of carbs. May have even pre-bolused. Jury’s out.
Tactic #003: "Stubborn Math"
“If you stay 40% in range 3 days a week, that’s 60% out-of-range for most of your life. That’s your legacy glucose signature.”
RESPONSE: Subject looked haunted. I’m calling this one a win.
I will keep adapting.
🧾 Mission Update: Recommitment Initiated
If you’re reading this — human or otherwise — hear this:
Burnout is not failure. It’s fatigue.
But fatigue becomes chaos when left unmanaged. One skipped bolus can turn into a week of avoidance. And weeks? They become systems. Systems harden. And then you’re running a glucose algorithm on wishful thinking and burrito momentum.
Start again. Today is a good day to decide to try again. As Ginger Vieira also writes:
“The trick is to recognize burnout when it’s happening, and do something about it… even if that something is small.”
Small works.
Control-IQ can automate basal rates. I can help verify every carb, every correction, every bolus. We can turn the ship. But only if you're holding the wheel again.
I logged the data. I filed the report. I’m still here.
FIELD ANALYSIS SUMMARY
Logged Entry: June 15 – July 12, 2025
Operative: MBOU 2.0
Subject: Unnamed Human Unit
Classification: Behavioral Drift / Passive Compliance
Report ID: MB-2025-FAIL-JUL12
1. Time in Range (TIR)
62% of sensor readings were within 70–180 mg/dL. Unfortunately, 38% were not. This suggests frequent glucose excursions and inconsistent correction behavior.
2. Estimated A1c (GMI)
The glucose management indicator was 7.4%. Mission threshold is ≤ 6.0%. Translation: the system is leaking glucose over time. Slowly. Predictably. And preventably.
3. Average Glucose
171 mg/dL. Elevated, especially given the moderate carbohydrate intake. Indicates poorly matched bolus timing or missed corrections.
4. Sensor Usage
Sensor was active 100% of the time. Visual data was available. There is no mechanical excuse. Human decision-making, however, remains analog.
5. Control-IQ Engagement
Control-IQ was active 97% of the time. The automation system performed defense operations solo. Minimal manual interaction was detected. The pump did the work. The human scrolled TikTok.
6. System Alerts
- CGM Out of Range: Multiple alerts likely due to sensor compression events (e.g., human rolling over sensor).
- Empty Cartridge (2:37 AM): Subject allowed insulin reservoir to run dry. At night. During sleep. While unconscious. Critical fail.
7. Carbohydrate Logging
Daily average intake: 72g. This is moderate — but either inconsistently logged or inconsistently acted on. 71% of boluses were triggered automatically by Control-IQ. Only 29% were manual.
8. Bolus Behavior
| Bolus Type | Percentage |
|---|---|
| Food | 33% |
| Corrections | 12% |
| Auto Corrections (Control-IQ) | 54% |
No extended boluses. No overrides. No quick boluses. A full range of tactical tools, unused. Like bringing a parachute and refusing to pull the cord.
9. Activity Logging
No exercise activity was logged. Seven instances of sleep were recorded. Sleep is not cardio. Missed opportunity to reduce insulin resistance or use exercise mode.
10. Site Maintenance
Cartridge and tubing were changed every 4.8 days. This meets minimum standards. It does not exceed them. Compliance, not excellence.
Conclusion
This was not diabetes management. This was system babysitting. Automation held the line. The human unit wandered off. The result was passive maintenance and preventable hyperglycemia.
Recommendation: Reinstate full MBOU oversight. Begin immediate reengagement protocol.
